A mere glimpse of the ISS Bethany
by Braxin
Summary: A slowly growing collection of short stories.
1. Chapter 1

**Story Line Explanation:**

I'd published the first story in this series, intending it to be a single snapshot, a one page story, a simple view into an event which might have taken place in season 3 of the series, and I'd intended to leave it at that, but then an unregistered commenter, Kathy, had some feedback I really liked, when she said she'd have liked to see it as the first of a series of little moments, instead of just one single snapshot, and I really liked that premise.

What's more, I'd just complimented another author for doing this with a series of longer stories, so reading Kathy's comment so soon after complimenting this author in my PM, well, it was an omen! An omen to rip them both off! The author in question, LoyaulteMeLie, seemingly inspired by the same divine maddess that drives Kathy, has written some great stories, so swing by that corner of fanfiction and read some good stuff.

Anyway, there are so many scenes that could not be shown due to time and budget restraints, so I imagine I'll take this tack to this particular story line. Lots of short one page stories, none of them connected linearly from one chapter to the next, each story a little snapshot in time, filled in as I feel inspired to add on.

Thanks, Kathy, that really was a great idea! LoyaulteMeLie, you're a literary genius, and I but follow behind you, picking up your breadcrumbs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Story #1 - Season 3**

T'Pol made her way through the halls of the Enterprise, discreetly glancing to her rear, in order to make certain that no crewmen would see what they should not see, that she was on the way to feed the monster, her monster… she could already feel her pulse racing, her breaths quickening a bit, and it is possible that even a Human crewman might take notice of the slight signs of agitation in the Vulcan, clearly written on her features. Well, if such things could not be avoided, neither could her appointment with her own personal demon be delayed much longer, a demon set free to take command of her psyche, and her body after her Trellium-D exposure on the Seleya. The need was in her, and if she had to pay a price, well, pay it she would… she had no choice.

A last look round, and then T'Pol pressed thumb to electronic reader in order to gain access to Commander Tucker's quarters almost instantly, for the man had added her to the list of approved entrants at all hours of the day or night, by ship's time. It had been this way since their first sexual encounter some six days back, and T'Pol was gratified by the gesture, although she feared it presented too much temptation to abuse the privilege on a whim.

Once inside the commander's quarters, T'Pol breathed a sigh of relief, and stepped into the cabin to see Commander Tucker, looking at her from the chair at his desk. He was apparently working on something on his computer, and T'Pol approached the man, after a brief nod.

"I hope that I am not disturbing you tonight, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol.

"We're private now, T'Pol," said Commander Tucker, a slight edge to his voice.

"I hope that I am not disturbing you, Trip," said T'Pol, adhering now to the bargain they'd made.

"You're never a disturbance," said Trip, then looked expectantly at the Vulcan. "You got something else for me?"

T'Pol bent forward to kiss the man on the lips, and he seemingly took a bit longer to savor that kiss than strictly necessary for the purpose of a Human style greeting, even pushing his tongue into her mouth and moving it about, in that delicious form of Human affection she'd just recently learned at his hands, and lips. Finally, the commander pulled back, and T'Pol got a glance at his workspace.

"What is that, if I might ask?" said T'Pol.

"New class of ship I'm floating to the Admiralty," said Trip. "They've asked to see my input for a lightweight frigate design, useful as a science vessel, diplomatic runner, and supporting player for a combat fleet, in the role of a scout vessel, or a destroyer. Half the size of an NX class, and much faster to build."

"The ISS Bethany," said T'Pol. "Why that name?"

"It's an unbearably cute name," said Trip. "It's a lovely name!"

"I do not believe that the Admiralty will approve naming an entire ship class after a high school crush, or such, Trip."

"The designer of the class, names the class, T'Pol," said Trip. "If the Admiralty doesn't like it, let them design their own ship."

"As you say," said T'Pol, seeing that the commander was unwilling to budge on this issue.

"So, what's up, T'Pol?" said Trip.

"I came to talk about our relatio—, about us," said T'Pol, slipping her left boot from her foot.

"Yeah?" said Trip, standing, and looking at T'Pol with an amused expression on his face. "What about us?"

"I am wondering if we should truly continue this experiment with Human sexuality, if it is wise," said T'Pol, slipping the other boot from her foot, "or if we should—"

"Why shouldn't we?" said Trip, beginning to unzip his uniform.

"Well some might say that we are not a logical match, Trip."

Trip snorted a laugh at that, and said, "Well, the Vulcan Science Directorate would agree with you, so maybe you have a point."

"What?" said T'Pol, freezing in place momentarily, while midway in slipping her torso out of the tight Vulcan uniform she habitually wore.

"The Vulcan Science Directorate would agree that we are not a logical match, T'Pol," said Trip, "and they would definitely not approve of what I'm about to do with you tonight."

"Oh," said T'Pol, resuming her efforts to undress. "I see."

"Yeah, you do see," said Trip, grinning. "The weight of their disapproval would be quite daunting, T'Pol."

"Their opinion on the matter is irrelevant," said T'Pol, stepping completely out of her coverall uniform, which was an amusing pun, because while the Vulcan's uniform did indeed cover all, it was so supple, so skin tight that it covered nothing, in fact.

"So why even have this discussion?" said Trip, working his way free of his own coverall uniform, to stand in front of the Vulcan in cotton shorts and t-shirt."

"I… I do not know…" said T'Pol, slipping off her bra. "I mean, I guess, if you think we are being foolish—"

Trip growled at the lovely sight before him, as he stared at the nude Vulcan, and said, "I don't think we're being foolish."

"Well, maybe you are right," said T'Pol, reaching to the built in shelf besides the commander's bunk to pick up a red silk ribbon, which she knotted about her neck in the shape of a big bow tie.

"I am right," said Trip, removing his t-shirt and tossing it to the floor.

"Do I really have to do this?" said T'Pol, lifting a human made headband which had a pair of cat's ears affixed to a horseshoe shaped plastic form, so that when she put the headband on, she seemed to be a cat. "It is silly. These cat ears are silly."

"Now you know the rules, T'Pol," said Trip. "You lost the bet, so you're wearing the ears, and the ribbon."

"Where did you find them anyway?" said T'Pol. "These are not regulation StarFleet wear."

"On Risa," said Trip. "Those cat ears are genuine imitation Risan blue leopard ears. I bought them for Jon's niece, but I like them better on you. Much better."

"Ugh," said T'Pol. "Well, let us get this show on the road."

"Lint patrol," said Trip. "Clean my glass."

"Oh, come on!" said T'Pol, stomping her foot. "You have a glass right there on your desk. Why not just use that?"

"Because I don't want to, T'Pol, and you lost the bet. Lint patrol!" said Trip, and T'Pol sighed, and stomped her way to the bathroom where she washed out her belly button of lint, then returned. "Satisfied?"

"Not yet," said Trip, and patted down his bunk.

T'Pol jumped on the mattress, bouncing a bit in the process, then laid flat on her back, and said, "Let us get things moving, Trip. I am on a time table to satisfaction."

Trip sneered at that, and grabbed a bottle of sake.

"Why you insisted on these ridiculous conditions in return for winning a bet, I will never underst—"

"Shhhh," said Trip, knelt next to his bunk.

T'Pol sighed. It never paid to lose a bet against Commander Tucker, and the man desired to drink sake from her belly button for some odd Human reason. A moment later she felt the chilled alcohol splash on her belly, and pool in her belly button, and T'Pol gasped, and laughed from the sheer novelty of the experience, a laugh which drew the commander's attention.

"You like that, eh?" said Trip.

"Just get on with it, fool," said T'Pol, and a moment later she laughed again, despite the fact that she'd steeled herself, when the commander's lips made contact with her belly and sucked up the sake from her belly button.

"Mmmm," said Trip. "So good!"

T'Pol looked down at the commander, and said, "Satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot," said Trip, then imbibed another four shots the same way.

"I am getting bored here, Trip," said T'Pol, though she was lying through her teeth.

"Two more shots, my sweet," said Trip, though he missed the belly button, and the shots landed both north, and south of their intended target.

"Good aim!" said T'Pol, meaning, bad aim. "Get me a towel please."

"Better aim than you think my lovely Vulcan SubCommander," said Trip, "and we don't waste good booze by soaking it with a towel."

After that, the commander began demonstrating proper mop-up procedures by lapping up the spilled sake with admirable zeal, and T'Pol could not help but approve. Life would have been perfect then, for them both, but the ship began bucking and shaking like gang busters and it was clear to all that the ship had struck another of the spatial anomalies so common to this region, and the klaxons sounded, calling everyone to duty stations.

"Maybe this is an omen," said Trip, as the two jostled to get dressed. "Maybe we don't belong together. These things keep happening."

"Don't be ridiculous!" said T'Pol, a touch heatedly. "We will just reconvene here after this minor crisis."

"Agreed," said Trip, with a scoundrel's grin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Story #2 - Season 1**

Having just left the Sick Bay along with the captain, T'Pol followed the man, something cold and hard within her psyche chipping at her control.

It was something best dealt with now, rather than left to fester, so T'Pol looked at the Human, and said, "Would you mind if I take the next two hours for my own, Captain? I would then relieve you, and free you up to do the same."

"That sounds fine, T'Pol. Go for it," said Archer, and the man gave the Vulcan a parting nod, as the corridor would soon come to an end, one path leading to the Bridge, the other to a turbo-lift.

"Thank you, Captain," said T'Pol, and shortly thereafter reached her quarters in order to change into her gym clothes, and then T'Pol left her quarters and took the turbo-lift to Deck D.

The Enterprise had three gyms, and if they were small in size, they were at least well equipped. The largest gym was meant for some team sports, the next was a free weight room, and the last was a padded room with a good number of props, meant for gymnastics, weapons training and unarmed combat training. It was to this last gym that T'Pol made her way, for she was too aggravated to meditate, and needed to blow off some steam.

"That damned fool! That jerk! How could he do that?!" thought T'Pol, quite agitated now, though a Human crewman glancing at her face would never have detected the slightest hint of the Vulcan's roiling emotions beneath that poised exterior.

"I am going to kill him!" thought T'Pol, stepping through the gym's doors, to find three crewmen going about their regimen: Ensign Mayweather doing gymnastics training, and Crewmen Stacy Ivers and Michelle Debon grappling, going at it like two little kittens wrestling in front of a cozy fireplace. "That is all there is to it. I'm going to kill him."

"How adorable," thought T'Pol, sarcastically, glancing at the grapplers, but then those two slender Human females were not up to V'Shar standards, not by a long mile.

T'Pol made her way to the weapons rack, and chose a hardwood bokken, a beautifully curved wooden sword meant for practicing kenjutsu, and she then began practicing the yonhon-me, willing her mind to stillness, or at least attempting the act in the practice of the kata. It was not working.

"How could Commander Tucker do that?!" thought T'Pol. "Who even does that? Who goes on board a Xyrillian ship to repair an engine, and returns pregnant to his own ship?! Who?!"

A cut, and then the bokken withdrawn precisely along the same trajectory it took to make the cut, then flowing into a thrust, bokken first turned sideways to signify the blade brought to a horizontal position.

"Commander Tucker, that is who!" thought T'Pol, her fury heightened, rather than diminished by the discipline imposed upon her by the sword. "That is who does things like that! That… that maddening fool!"

Although Vulcans were great bullshitters with other species and even among themselves so far as their emotions were concerned, millions of years of evolution could not be overcome by some five thousand years of logic, they could only be modulated to some degree, and the true essence of the Vulcan heart was passion, although the Vulcans had done a remarkable job of harnessing such passions through logic. That did not mean that Vulcans no longer had to wrestle with their emotions, nor that they lied to themselves, and T'Pol was honest enough with herself to privately admit that she was fascinated by Commander Tucker.

"That attraction in itself is grounds to question my logic!" thought T'Pol. "That man is an infuriating fool, incapable of logic!"

Even as she thought that last, T'Pol had to admit her thought was going too far: the man was an excellent engineer, and a man quite capable of logic, but also a man who seemed to take a delight in tormenting her with his unpredictable behavior, with his twisted sense of humor, with his infuriating habit of challenging her commands, all while sprinkling moments of a subtle intimacy throughout their time together.

A backwards step, a sidestep, a spin, a downward cut, all flowing from one movement to the next with total commitment, yet none of it stilling T'Pol's thoughts, so she broke form and stepped over to a Kevlar covered padded dummy, a dummy meant for striking practice with the various melee weapons to be found in this gym.

"Why should I even care what he does?" thought T'Pol, striving to bring order to her thoughts. "He is nothing to me!"

A vicious cut which would have severed a Human in half, delivered with a loud pop, and T'Pol collected herself, and struck again, this time from a 45 degree vector, mimicking a killing blow which would cut through the neck and upper torso. Another cut, a thrust to the face of the dummy, a downward cut to the dummy's right leg, the faux blade then drawn across the left leg, before T'Pol stepped back.

"Why should I care?! A match between us is illogical! I must cut him off from my source!" thought T'Pol. "I must harden myself to become impervious to his charms, his double entendres which seem to hint that he himself desires me as well, to those blue eyes which seem to see so deeply into me, to his smile… It must all end!"

The thought of that resolution carried through only angered T'Pol, rather than providing her with relief, and she began striking the dummy with a cold fury which drove the Vulcan on and on, cut after cut, strike after strike, each blow coming harder than the blow just given, and it all ended only when the bokken came apart in her hands, the curved wooden stave having been designed for a Human's lesser strength, and with that, T'Pol stopped her attack, only then becoming aware than the three Humans in the room were watching her wide-eyed, and it was their attention, more than a stilling of her inner conflict, which caused T'Pol to assume the mask of cool poise which she'd cultivated her entire life.

T'Pol picked up the two largest pieces of the now broken bokken off the gym's matting, and then looked at Crewman Ivers and said, "Clean this mess up so that no one steps on these splinters."

"Yes, sir," said Ivers, still stunned by the Vulcan's uncharacteristic display.

The instant T'Pol turned to head for the door, Ivers looked at Debon and Mayweather, and mouthed the word "Wow!"

The others nodded, and smiled back at Ivers.

"Well, on that note, I'm leaving, before T'Pol comes back to kill us all for witnessing what we should not have seen," said Ensign Mayweather. "Have fun you two."

Moments later, Travis reached his quarters, stripped off his clothes and got into a hot shower, which soon steamed up the small bathroom, and the Ensign luxuriated in that hot steam. Minutes later, he sensed movement, and felt a pair of lovely breasts pressed against his back, and smelled the sandalwood perfume his lover favored, felt her hand reach around to touch his stomach, and heard her giggle.

"I thought you were still on duty, Ensign," said Travis, placing his hand atop that of his lover.


	4. Chapter 4

**Story #3 - Season 4**

When the tactical situation aboard the Bridge of the Enterprise changed, it changed in the blink of an eye, and Commander Tucker the agent of that change, when he stepped onto the Bridge, phaser pistol in hand, to then quickly stun Lt. Reed, Captain Archer and finally Ensign Mayweather, and retake control of the ship from the three Orion vixens who had gained control of the Enterprise through the power of their pheromones, and the effect of those pheromones on the Humans manning the Enterprise.

Even as Commander Tucker was hustling the Orions off the Bridge and into the turbo lift, Ensign Sato was contacting the Sick Bay and requesting Phlox's presence on the Bridge, to tend to the three stunned crew members, then following the progress of Commander Tucker and the Orions through the ship through the services of the ship's security camera systems built into the Enterprise in case the Enterprise was ever boarded.

"Put the camera feed up on the monitor," said T'Pol, meaning the large video monitor built into the Bridge. "I'll contact security and have them aid Commander Tucker in controlling those Orion females."

"Yes, sir," said Hoshi, and a moment later, a view of the turbo-lift tube was displayed, Commander Tucker still aiming phaser pistol at the Orions, as the Orions studied the man quite intently, and a bit warily.

* * *

"Something on your mind, baby?" said Trip, looking at Navaar, the leader of the Orion women.

"You interest me, Commander Tucker," said Naavar. "You interest us all."

"Well, I am fascinating man, Navaar," said Trip, studying the Orion's lustrous black hair, green skin, big blue eyes, fine features and lithe dancer's body, "so I don't blame you, darling."

"The way you're looking at my body, makes me believe that you're not a homosexual, Commander Tucker," said Navaar, and Trip snorted a laugh at that, "and yet even if you were a homosexual, our charms would still overwhelm you."

"Maybe you're just not as charming as you believe yourself to be," said Trip.

"Oh, but I know that we are, Commander tucker," said Navaar, reaching slowly and suggestively to run her fingers beneath her bra top, and caress her breast, even going so far at to bring a nipple and half the breast out for the commander's inspection, "so that begs the question, of why our charms have no effect on you."

"Oh, that's nice, darling," said Trip, looking at Navaar's exposed breast, "but you can put that breast away. There are times in my life when I've got access to the loveliest pair of breasts in the universe, and that's no exaggeration."

Up on the Bridge, T'Pol blushed slightly, pleased at the commander's words.

"I see," said Navaar, displeased at being rejected so completely. "But that still doesn't answer the question of how you've resisted our charms."

"As it turns out, I have a wife, Navaar, a fact of which I've only recently been apprised," said Trip: up on the Bridge, T'Pol stiffened and stood straighter than ever, and from the corner of her eye, T'Pol saw Ensign Sato turn slowly towards her, her full lips pursed into a lovely circle, and then relaxing into a smile, and T'Pol heard the Ensign whisper, "I knew it! I knew it the whole time!"

"And married Humans are immune to our charms…" said Navaar, thoughtfully.

"Some of them," said Trip, knowing that he couldn't bluff the Orion into believing that all Humans were immune.

"So what now?" said Navaar. "Back to the Brig?"

"Actually, I'm going to transport the three of you back to your ship," said Trip, "but don't come back here, Navaar, or I'll blow your brains out."

Navaar nodded her agreement with the commander's orders… though his face seemed too kind to actually do as he'd threatened, one never knew.

* * *

"I guess we proved it again," said Trip, as he and T'Pol left Sick Bay and walked the corridors of the Enterprise.

"Proved what?" said T'Pol, knowing damned well what her mate meant by proved it again.

"That you and I make a hell of a team," said Trip, obviously pleased.

"We do seem to work well together," said T'Pol, allowing herself a slight smug satisfaction at the fact which Commander Tucker had clearly noted.

"Even more now that we're in each other's heads," said Trip, and T'Pol noted that the man was obviously pleased by their psychic bond.

"You're returning to Columbia?" said T'Pol, meaning to bring the conversation round to her true purpose: keeping her mate on the Enterprise.

"I imagine Captain Hernandez is getting pretty antsy to have her Chief Engineer back," said Trip, a mere statement of fact.

"There are still numerous repairs to be carried out here," said T'Pol, meaning, 'You have an excuse to stay aboard the Enterprise longer. Take it.'

"I think Kelby can handle them. He'd been observing my work pretty carefully, when he wasn't trying to blow up the ship," said Trip, understanding the hidden meaning in T'Pol's words quite clearly.

"Kelby is a fine engineer, but he lacks experience," said T'Pol, meaning, 'Reconsider'.

"Why don't you just say it?" said Trip, tiring of the cat and mouse game.

"Say what?" said T'Pol, stalling for time.

"That you want me to come back," said Trip, speaking plainly now.

"I believe I did. I think your presence here would be extremely beneficial to our operations," said T'Pol, and noted that her mate now wore a funny grin, which meant he clearly saw past her subterfuge: this Bond was turning out to be a real pain!

"No. That you want me back," said Trip, clearly calling T'Pol's bluff.

"I don't know what you mean," said T'Pol with a slight frown, thinking, 'I have no place to run!'.

"My mistake. See you around," said Trip, obviously hurt though he tried to hide his pain.

"Wait, Trip. I want you to come back," said T'Pol, speaking truth, but allowing only the very slightest bit of emotion to color her request.

"Then I'll think about it," said Trip, clearly not overwhelmed by the manner of T'Pol's request.

"Trip!" said T'Pol, her worry that her mate would turn his back on her now, allowing for emotion to bleed into her plea, and bring a Commander Tucker to at least turn round and face her, and for his troubles, T'Pol leaned in and pulled him close with her right hand, brought him even closer with her left hand and kissed her mate deeply, and brazenly, in the halls of the Enterprise, after which T'Pol waited nervously, hoping that this kiss might be enough: if she was forced to dance in the halls like an Orian hussy for her mate, well, the image of Vulcan propriety which her species had labored long and hard to create would be dashed asunder with that one act.

"Three days ago, I told Captain Hernandez I wanted a transfer back to Enterprise," said Trip, and T'Pol marveled that her mate had the discipline to keep from seeming smug, after the way he had outmaneuvered her, and underhandedly forced her to reveal her feelings for him! Arrghhhh! The man could be so infuriating sometimes!

"Three days ago?" said T'Pol, longing to throttle her mate, though her face displayed not the slightest trace of aggravation with Commander Tucker.

"I realised this is where I was meant to be, and that this thing between us isn't that big of a deal," said Trip, quite pleased.

"Agreed," said T'Pol, then "Wait! What do you mean it is not that big a deal? I assure you, the Bond between mates is the biggest deal there is."

"No, darling," said Trip. "What I meant, and what I should have said is that this pissing contest we've been having is not that big a deal."

"Oh," said T'Pol. "On that, we are agreed."

"More to the point," said Trip, smiling, "once I found out about our Bond, I decided it is illogical to avoid my mate."

"Quite so," said T'Pol, well satisfied now. "I applaud your reasoning, Commander Tucker."

"Guess we got a lot of work to do," said Trip, smiling pleasantly.

"Yes," said T'Pol, then: "Wait. Do you mean on the ship? Or our relationship?"

"Yes," said Trip, turning to leave a slightly frustrated Vulcan behind him to parse his words. But before he got too far way, he said, "1900 hours. My quarters. Bring something alcoholic and I'll bring a snack."

T'Pol thought on the commander's request and found it quite agreeable: her mate desired to taste her lips, and more, and she shared his desires.


	5. Chapter 5

**Story #4 - Season 1**

Commander Tucker, aka Trip, walked the halls of the Enterprise in order to reach Ensign Travis Mayweather's cabin, and pressed the buzzer to announce himself, and a moment later, the Ensign cracked the door in order to look out into the corridor.

"Hey, Commander," said Travis. "What can I do for you?"

"I know that we've just recently met, Ensign," said Trip, "but I'd like to soup up the Shuttle Pod's engines and add some additional maneuvering thrusters in order to boost performance, and I thought you'd like some input into the process. You're the best pilot aboard this ship, and you're the one best suited to squeeze the most out of any improvements."

"Are you kidding? I'd love that, Commander Tucker! Let me get a shirt—" said Travis, obviously excited at the thought, then a look of distress crossed his face. "You know, we'll have to tackle this a bit later, if you don't mind. I'm kind of tied up at the moment, Commander."

"You sure?" said Trip, for he's seen the excitement on the Ensign's face just moments earlier. "If you have to be on duty, I can have someone stand in for y—"

Just then, a delicate feminine hand came from behind the door, to gently and playfully push it's fingers into the Ensign's mouth.

"What the hell?" said Trip. "Travis, you son of a bitch, we've just left space dock for our first mission, and you've already found yourself a lover?!"

The fingers in Travis's mouth moved gently up and down, forcing the Ensign to follow that motions, and affirm the Commander's statement.

"I hate you, Travis," said Trip. "I really do."

Travis shook his head to free his mouth, and laughed, saying, "It's not like that, Commander. You're just imagining all this."

The hand reached up again, and grasped Ensign Mayweather's chin and moved it sideways, giving lie to the Ensign's words.

"Who is that anyway?" said Trip, and grabbed hold of the woman's hand with a fast reach.

A sharp squeal, and feminine laughter, followed the Commander's grasp as the woman tried to free her hand, and Travis joined in helping her free herself, while laughing at the ridiculous situation, the two finally freeing the woman's hand from the Commander's grasp.

"Thanks for stopping by, Commander," said Travis, pushing Trip's hand back to close the cabin door.

"Travis, you bastard! I'm camping outside your door! Sooner or later, she'll have to come out! Open up!" said Trip, laughing, and playfully pounding the door a few times, before going on about his day.

* * *

"How about this?" said Trip, looking briefly at the Vulcan by his side.

"It's just background noise," said T'Pol dismissively. "Your sensors aren't capable of isolating plasma decay."

"How can you be so damn sure what our sensors can do?" said Trip, irritation sneaking into his voice.

"Vulcan children play with toys that are more sophisticated," said T'Pol.

The condescension in the Vulcan's voice only irritated Commander Tucker more, though he ground his teeth and then responded with sarcasm to the Vulcan's jab.

"You know, some people say that you Vulcans do nothing but patronize us, but if they were here now, if they could see how far you're bending over backwards to help me, they'd eat their words," said Trip, making his irritation quite apparent to the Vulcan following behind him by several feet, following him with the grace of a panther.

"Your Captain's mission was to return the Klingon to his people," said T'Pol, moving around the commander now, and stepping into a small open sided lift what would take her to the floor below. "He no longer has the Klingon."

"I realize he's only a simple Earthling but did it ever occur to you that he might know what he's doing? It's no secret StarFleet hasn't been around too long. God knows you remind us of that every chance you get," said Trip, locking eyes now for a bit with the Vulcan, who was stepping out of the lift just then and returning his gaze in the same way, "but does that mean the man who's been put in charge of this mission doesn't deserve our support? Then again, loyalty's an emotion, isn't it?"

As Commander Tucker had addressed the Vulcan, T'Pol had made her way to the commander, the poise and competence of a Vulcan military officer quite apparent in her bearing, but an onlooker would have noticed that two unusual things taking place as T'Pol came to stand before the Human commander. The first oddity, was the Vulcan's location in reference to the Human commander. T'Pol, who usually kept a three foot buffer zone of personal space between herself and the Human crew when possible, had chosen to voluntarily stand quite close to the Human commander, well within eighteen inches, and as if that was not enough to remark upon, as soon as she drew that close and looked up at the commander, T'Pol's cool glance shifted an changed to something quite unguarded, quite feminine.

"Loyalty is not an emotion, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, "but as a matter of fact, Vulcans are capable of being quite emotional. We simply use the structure of logic to modulate our emotions and moderate our responses, but we are quite familiar with emotions. You Humans never understood that fact."

"Really?" said Trip, causing a sudden pain in T'Pol's heart with a cute lopsided grin which the Vulcan found most agreeable. "You are an emotional being? You, T'Pol?"

"Certainly," said T'Pol, lifting her chin slightly as if in challenge.

Trip smiled at that, and placed his left hand on one of the reinforcing struts which was quite close to T'Pol's shoulder, and T'Pol took note of that fact, though nothing in her face gave away her precise feelings on the matter.

"What would I have to do in order to see that side of you, my lovely Vulcan SubCommander?" said Trip, his eyes twinkling.

"If I understand the way you mean that question, Commander Tucker, that side of us is reserved for our mates," said T'Pol, wide eyed now.

"Good to know," said Trip. "Doesn't mean I can't see that side of you someday, T'Pol. Possibly?"

"Doubtful, Commander Tucker."

"Why?"

"I am a Vulcan, and you a Human, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, breathing a bit harder than seemed necessary. "The numerous difference between our respective species make such an outcome extremely unlikely."

"But not impossible," said Trip, a small smile dancing on his lips.

T'Pol looked at the Human's face closely for a moment, then said, "No. Not impossible."

T'Pol spun on her heels then in order to leave Engineering quickly, and flee this Human who made her mind consider things best left alone, and examine impulses best left unexamined.

* * *

.

*I might be crazy, but I thought the latter scene in Broken Bow was very sexy, with T'Pol going all soft eyed when getting close to Trip, and I've always wondered where it might have gone, if the producers had not chosen that particular moment to thrust Archer into the scene, and disrupt the TnT magic which was about to go down.

**K, what did you mean about T'Pol getting her DNA on a peach? What does that mean? I wonder if I've missed something now. Why does Trip want T'Pol's DNA?! As far as I know Trip has no dastardly plans for T'Pol.


	6. Chapter 6

**Story #5 - Season 3**

"She's coming to!" said Archer to Phlox as he entered Sick Bay, while carrying a T'Pol in his arms.

Phlox nodded, and moments later, doctor and captain worked together in order to quickly strap the Vulcan to the Sick Bay examination bed, but T'Pol's system, under the unbearable agitation caused by her exposure to the toxins of the asteroid field and the Seleya, was amped up sufficiently to largely overcome the effects of the stun charge she'd absorbed, just minutes earlier, along with Commander Tucker.

"Let me go!" said T'Pol, groaning as she tossed and turned, just shy of full consciousness, distressed now by the absence of the one, the other, the only being that truly mattered to her on this whole cursed ship of murderers!

She opened her eyes and saw Archer and Phlox strapping her down to the exam bed, and she knew they meant her harm, knew they meant to destroy her!

"Let me go!" said T'Pol once more, grabbing hold of Archer round the throat, meaning to force compliance from the man.

"Stop!" said Archer, just before feeling T'Pol's dainty fingers grab hold of him with a strong grip.

"I'll kill you!" said T'Pol, practically snarling in the man's face.

"We're not gonna hurt you!" said Archer, quite motivated to defuse T'Pol's rage lest she snap his neck, Phlox doing what he could to help free the captain from the Vulcan's grip.

"You liar!" screamed T'Pol.

With Phlox's help and a desperate twist, Archer freed himself from T'Pol's grasp and stepped back, then immediately worked with Phlox to secure the Vulcan to the exam bed.

"No! Get away from me! No!" screamed T'Pol, aware that she'd lost, and now fearing the consequences.

Just then, two of Lt. Reed's security men came into Sick Bay carrying the body of him, the one, Commander Tucker, and T'Pol gave up all hope and she screamed and screamed, until Archer restrained her head and Phlox sedated her.

* * *

 **HOURS EARLIER:**

"We've got to get T'Pol to Sick Bay as soon as we board the Enterprise," said Archer, piloting the shuttle back to the Enterprise after they'd just escaped the nightmare that was the Seleya. "Make sure Phlox is ready. See that we have some men with a stretcher there for T'Pol."

"Yes, Captain," said Reed, and reached out to the doctor back on the Enterprise.

Five minutes later, more or less, Shuttlepod One entered the Shuttle Bay, and Archer powered down the ship just as he heard a slight noise from the back of the shuttle. Archer and Reed both turned quickly, but just an instant too late, for an agitated T'Pol was quicker on the jump. Reed ate an open hand strike that knocked him out like light, and Archer found himself grabbed and tossed against the hull of the shuttlepod when he tried to restrain T'Pol. Archer made a hard impact with the shuttle's hull and by the time he stood, groaning in pain, and found his way off the shuttle, he found the two men there to ferry T'Pol to Sick Bay on the ground, one unconscious, one barely stirring. Moving as quickly as possible, Archer reached the wall mounted comm unit and reached out to his men.

"Archer to Security," said the captain.

"Yes, Captain," said Pritchett.

"T'Pol's running loose through the ship, and she's quite ill," said Archer. "Scramble your teams and find her. Subdue her, and take her to the Sick Bay. Don't harm her, but be careful. She's frightened and aggressive."

"Yes, Captain," said Pritchett.

* * *

Moving through the ship was like a nightmare for T'Pol. The color scheme seemed all wrong and made her nauseous, the lights were too bright and only compounded her splitting headache, and what's more a rising tide of agitation and fear clawed at the Vulcan's self-control, what little was left of it anyway. T'Pol knew that she was not in her right mind, but she was damned if she could put a name to her fears, or regain control of her emotions.

She moved through the ship with a purpose now, though she was not aware of it consciously, and in the process she crossed paths with several crew members and though they made no move towards her, T'Pol headed directly for three of them, desiring nothing more than to silence their thoughts, the hatred she saw in their eyes when they looked at her, but fortunately for all, those three crew men took to their heels and evaded T'Pol.

Minutes later she encountered two security men coming out of a turbo-lift tube she'd intended to board, and T'Pol assaulted them and speedily incapacitated them, but not before taking a painful kidney punch from one of the Security men, and a nasty blow to the side of the head which swelled quickly, and caused a ringing in her left ear, to go along with the diminished vision from an injured eye.

She took the lift then from E Deck up one, to D Deck, and dealt with another security man while there, this time without sustaining damage, and while moving through D Deck she heard an announcement for all crew on this deck to secure themselves at their stations and stay out of her way. That might have pleased her, had T'Pol been rational, but then her thoughts were hardly rational. She moved on instinct through this deck for she had a purpose, and even more important, she had nowhere else to go. The killing anxiety which drove her informed her that she'd soon be dead, and all she asked for, all that drove her now, was the desire to die in the place of her own choosing, and something within drove T'Pol down here, headed towards Engineering, seeking something... she knew not what.

Another few stressful moments as she crossed paths with a Security man, who foolishly tried to subdue T'Pol using his unarmed combat training, and was roughly handled and knocked out in return for his overconfidence, though he'd managed to break three of T'Pol's fingers on the left hand, and a thumb on the opposite hand in the process, though that pain was nothing to T'Pol in this state, her body running on adrenaline now.

She didn't even know what she was doing here, and when several Engineers came out to see the ruckus in the main compartment where T'Pol had fought the last Security man, T'Pol snarled at them and they retreated. And then he came, a single man walking into the department from somewhere further up on Deck D, and something about the man's carriage struck a familiar cord inside T'Pol, though her sight was blurry now.

He came closer now, within thirty feet or so, and T'Pol recognized Commander Tucker, and for some reason that pacified T'Pol somewhat, even more so when the man slid smoothly to his knees, legs folded under him, his buttocks resting on his feet. T'Pol drew closer then, suspicious, but not overly so considering the circumstances, and when she stood before the man, and towered above him, Commander Tucker merely looked at her and touched the ground by his left knee, and then slowly, cautiously, T'Pol knelt by Commander Tucker, and looked at the man, fearful, angry, agitated, breathing rapidly, and it was clear to them both that she was in distress.

He spoke then, but T'Pol could not even make out his words, they meant nothing. She noted though, that his blue eyes seemed concerned and guileless, and his voice was soothing, and that combination touched something within T'Pol. Whimpering a bit, from pain, exhaustion and fear, she slowly drew closer to Commander Tucker and pressed herself against him, and moments later she felt the man's arms come slowly around her body, and the Vulcan closed her eyes, and did her best to reach for calm.

Just then, Archer and a Security team approached the two kneeling forms and Pritchett looked at Commander Tucker. Pritchett raised his phaser rifle and gave Commander Tucker a questioning look, and Trip nodded, hoping the man had the damned thing on stun. Pritchett's rifle was indeed set on stun, area stun in case he had to take a shot at the Vulcan on the run, and when he aimed it at T'Pol, it took her and Commander Tucker out, both falling unconscious.

* * *

Some twenty hours later, T'Pol woke with a start, to find herself in the Sick Bay, Phlox beside her, taking a look at some of the readings generated by her bio-bed interface.

"Morning, T'Pol," said Phlox, and though T'Pol was still agitated, and it showed in her readings to Phlox's trained eye, she looked better than before.

"Doctor," said T'Pol, "how long have I been here?"

"Since yesterday, T'Pol," said Phlox.

"Can someone fill me in on what has happened to me?" said T'Pol.

"All in good time, T'Pol," said Phlox. "Until then, relax."

"Yes, Doctor," said T'Pol, and when Phlox left, she closed her eyes, trying but failing to reach the peace of meditation.

Ten minutes later, T'Pol's attention was drawn by some voices coming from the other side of Sick Bay, voices drawing closer, and shortly after that, Commander Tucker stepped around the cloth privacy partition which Phlox had drawn around her bed, and the two looked at each other, T'Pol shyly, Trip smiling a comforting smile.

"Morning, T'Pol," said Trip, and T'Pol nodded back timidly, for she remembered at least that she'd crawled into the man's arms when all seemed lost, and still recalled the relief she felt in that simple act.

A few more silent moments, then the two began speaking, Trip telling T'Pol what he knew of her situation, the manner in which she'd been subdued and brought to Sick Bay, and then they spoke a few minutes more of the Seleya, and T'Pol looked ready to cry, which for her, was major.

"I need some time to process all this in private, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, "in order to regain control of my emotions."

"Sure," said Trip, standing next to T'Pol, and though T'Pol was still restrained to the bed, due to her precarious condition, Commander Tucker reached down and took T'Pol's hand. "May I visit you later?"

"Yes, please," said T'Pol, the commander's touch comforting, and though T'Pol doubted she could have ever reached out to the man this day, due to a Vulcan's cultural conditioning, she was glad he'd done so.

Trip nodded, smiled, bent down to plant a kiss on T'Pol's forehead and then vanished like a wraith, leaving T'Pol to sigh, and wonder… where might things go with them both?


	7. Chapter 7

**Story #6 - Season 1**

Trip walked one step behind Archer, on the way to the captain's Ready Room, and said, "Since when do we have Vulcan Science officers?"

"Since we needed their star charts to get to Kronos," said captain Archer.

"So we get a few maps, and they get to put a spy on our ship?" said Trip, questioning StarFleet's decision.

"Admiral Forrest says we should think of her more as a chaperone," said Archer, stepping into his Ready Room.

"I thought the whole point of this was to get away from the Vulcans," said Trip.

"Four days there, four days back, then she's gone. In the meantime, we're to extend her every courtesy," said Archer, who privately shared Trip's concerns with StarFleet's decision, but determined to make the best of it.

"I don't know. I'd be more comfortable with Porthos on the Bridge," said Trip, eyeballing the captain's Beagle.

A chime sounded, announcing a visitor to the Ready Room.

"Here we go," said Archer, glancing at Trip. "Come in!"

Trip assumed a poker face as the door opened in response to the captain's verbal permission to enter, and it was just as well he did so, when the loveliest Vulcan he'd ever seen walked through the door and made eye contact with him briefly, before properly turning her attention to the captain. It was just as well she did so, because Trip's heart beat a rapid tempo with a boom as deep as a taiko drum. Surely the Vulcan heard that beat, and wondered at it!

Oh, she had it all! The face of an angel, with those almond eyes and upswept browline of the Vulcans, the pointy ears which had never been a selling point with Trip before, but which seemed as beautiful and delicate as the rest of her face now. Even her spartan haircut suited the Vulcan and focused one's attention on the perfection of her features.

And the body? Forget about the body. It was perfect, somehow combining athleticism and curvaceousness in perfect proportions, and to top it all, that magnificent body was poured in what seemed to be a one piece bodysuit, purposely designed to highlight every line, every curve. Mother of God!

T'Pol stepped into the room, and turned her attention to the captain of this ship, a sight far less agreeable than the handsome blond she'd inadvertently locked eyes with upon entering the room… but who could blame her? He had the blond hair reminiscent of the Terran Sun, a color rare among the Vulcans, and he then topped that rarity with a pair of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, and displayed them both on a finely chiseled face that any Vulcan might find attractive.

"This confirms that I was formally transferred to your command at oh eight hundred hours," said T'Pol. "Reporting for duty."

She sniffed ostentatiously then, slightly repulsed by a strong scent, then noted the captain's Beagle, Porthos, watching her from a few feet away.

"Is there a problem?" said Archer.

"No, sir."

"Oh, I forgot. Vulcan females have a heightened sense of smell," said Archer, glancing Trip's way, and noting a slight smile on the man's face. "I hope Porthos isn't too offensive to you."

"I've been trained to tolerate offensive situations," said T'Pol, making it clear that she was offended by much more than just the captain's dog.

"I took a shower this morning. How about you, Captain?" said Trip with a slight smile on his face, and T'Pol turned her head slightly to look at the gorgeous Human who had remained silent until just now, her eyes drinking in the man's beauty, though she betrayed not the slightest sign of approval.

"I'm sorry," said Archer to T'Pol. "This is Commander Charles Tucker. SubCommander T'Pol."

The man the captain had named Charles Tucker stood and approached T'Pol, and the Vulcan spun round to face the man fully, consciously or unconsciously holding her body at just the right angle to display her beauty to it's fullest extent for the man's benefit.

"Trip. I'm called Trip," said Commander Tucker, holding out his hand to T'Pol.

"I'll try to remember that," said T'Pol, neither looking at the hand nor extending her own in return, before turning her back on the man to look back at the captain, leaving Commander Tucker hanging, quite purposely: it was best to establish her own position relative to him, right from the start.

Trip exchanged a look with the captain behind T'Pol's back, and just as Archer was about to speak, an announcement came over the captain's desk mounted comm unit: "Captain on the Bridge."

"Give me just a few moments, T'Pol. I'll be right back," said Archer, and with that, the captain left Trip and T'Pol alone in his Ready Room, the Vulcan purposely ignoring the man, while looking out a porthole.

"Do you have any particular reason for being rude, T'Pol," said Trip, a moment later, having resumed his seat after T'Pol's snub.

T'Pol spun slowly round to face the man, and said, "Excuse me?"

"I said, do you have any—"

"I heard what you said, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, "and I was not aware that I was being rude."

"Oh, but you were, my lovely Vulcan SubCommander," said Trip. "Tell me, is it logical to antagonize your shipmates the moment you board the ship?"

"What is it that would pacify you, Commander Tucker?" said T'Pol.

"Tell me you love me," said Trip, a slight smile on his face. "That would pacify me."

"Ridiculous, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol.

"Than shake my hand, as I'd initially offered," said Trip.

"Will that end this conversation, Commander Tucker?"

"Yes," said Trip, eyes twinkling.

"Fine, fine," said T'Pol, stepping forward and extending her hand to the still seated Human.

As creatures evolved on a hot desert planet, Vulcan body temps ran somewhat cooler than Human standards, at 91.5 degrees, and both of them were pleased by the contrast: to Trip, T'Pol's touch seemed pleasantly cool, to T'Pol, the Human's touch seemed positively hot, and they both took a bit longer than strictly necessary to savor the differences, and just as they were about to separate, the Ready Room's door slid open and Archer walked in, and just then, Trip gave T'Pol's hand a slight tug, causing the unsuspecting Vulcan to tip a bit forward towards the Commander, and grasp him with both hands in order to stabilize herself.

"Am I interrupting something?" said Archer, noting Trip's smile and the Vulcan's unexpected position.

"Come on, Captain!" said Trip. "What are you doing? She was just about to kiss me!"

"I was not… I was not about to kiss him!" said T'Pol rising to stand alone, after shooting Commander Tucker an inscrutable look: she turned then, to face the captain once more, assuming the poise with which she'd entered the room, before this cursed Commander Tucker got his hands on her.

"All right," said Archer, looking at T'Pol. "While you may not share our enthusiasm about this mission, I expect you to follow our rules. What's said in this room and out on that Bridge is privileged information. I don't want every word I say being picked apart the next day by the Vulcan High Command."

"My reason for being here is not espionage," said T'Pol. "My superiors simply asked me to assist you."

"Your superiors don't think we can flush a toilet without one of you to assist us," said Archer.

"I didn't request this assignment Captain," said T'Pol, "and you can be certain that when the mission's over I'll be as pleased to leave this ship as you'll be to have me go."

Just then, Porthos approached T'Pol, and placed his front paws on the Vulcan's leg, whining adorably in hopes of getting attention from the sweet smelling two-legs.

Visibly frustrated by the canine's unwarranted assault, coming right on the heels of Commander Tucker's improper behavior, T'Pol said, "If there's nothing else?"

"That'll be all," said Archer, and the Vulcan cleared the room.

A moment more for the two friends and shipmates to make eye contact, and smile the Archer spoke.

"So, what did you think of her, Trip?" said Archer with a grin now.

"I'm in love, Captain! I'm in love!" said Trip, and Archer laughed.

"You know," said Archer, "one of my powers as a captain is to perform weddings, Trip."

"We'll get there, never fear," said Trip. "I've got a whole four days to talk her into it. That's like an eternity for a man in love!"

* * *

"Hi," said the pretty Ensign, holding cup and plate in hand as she approached the only other occupied table at the moment. "Would you like some company?"

"I'd love some company," said Ensign Travis Mayweather, who had been reading some technical data off a PADD(Personal Access Data Device) unit up until that moment: now, he set that aside, and smiled.

"I know we haven't had much of a chance to talk since we boarded the ship in such a hurry," said the pretty Ensign. "I'm Hoshi Sato."


	8. Chapter 8

**Story #7 - Season 4**

"Ohh... kay," said Archer, having just received an injection from Phlox.

Lt. Malcolm Reed had just received the same injection, an injection intended in both cases to counter some of the lingering physiologically effects left from the Orion dancers Harrad-Sar had gifted Archer with in order to gain custody of that man, physiological effects which still affected the majority of the ship's crew.

"The dizziness should fade in a couple of hours," said Phlox, after helping the captain, for he'd clumsily slipped a bit in getting off the exam bed he'd been sitting on while Phlox had checked him out, and then administered the injection.

"Glad to hear that," said Archer.

"At least the pheromones are wearing off," said Lt. Reed. "I haven't thought about the Orions for what, a whole ten minutes?"

"The entire crew's been bumping into walls. It's like someone spiked the water supply," said Trip.

"The after effects will be around for at least a few days," said Phlox.

"Well done," said the captain, taking in both T'Pol and Commander Tucker with his glance, and in turn they both looked at each other briefly in a silent look of congratulatory fellowship.

"Thank you, Captain," said T'Pol.

"You'll be glad to know my log won't mention your firing on a fellow officer," said the captain, looking at Trip.

"I appreciate that," said Trip.

"A court-martial would hardly be a fitting ending to this incident," said T'Pol. "At least we've learned something about the Orions."

"Yeah, the women are in charge," said Malcolm, a small smile gracing the man's face, which was good to see, given how guarded and disciplined the man's habitual stance.

"It proves," said T'Pol, "that even the most disagreeable species have some positive attributes."

Trip standing next to T'Pol fixed his eyes upon the Vulcan, but Lt. Reed reacted to T'Pol's words with a tilt of the head and a gesture to indicate T'Pol.

"Was that my imagination?" said Archer, who had instantly grasped the Lieutenant's meaning.

"I don't think so," said Malcolm, another slight smile on his face, and looking directly across, the Lieutenant noted that Commander Tucker had a smile on his face as well.

"It almost sounded like you were making a joke," said Archer, after noting the expressions on both Reed and Tucker faces, and sharing a brief conspiratorial look with them both.

"At least, trying to make one," said Trip, ever the smartass.

"I assure you, if I ever decide to make a joke, you'll know about it," said T'Pol, delivering her line with a perfectly deadpan expression, which only made the entire line funnier.

"There it is again," said Trip, pleased by this aspect of T'Pol.

"T'Pol, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were picking up some of Trip's bad habits," said Archer.

Archer laughed softly at the thought, Trip laughed quite openly, pleased by the idea, and Reed laughed openly as well now. For her part, T'Pol, after ignoring Archer, and sparing a brief glance for Commander Tucker, spun her head to look at Lt. Reed a murderous look in her eyes, which only made it all much funnier, and the good natured laughter continued for almost a minute, before it finally died off, then Commander Tucker got a second wind, which threatened to start the whole thing all over again, so T'Pol stepped in.

"That is quite enough, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol.

"Oh, I'll tell you when I've had enough, SubCommander," said Trip with a smile, teasing the Vulcan with her former title with the High Command, "but I can't say that just yet."

T'Pol said nothing, but shared a private look with the man, that somehow managed to convey exasperation with the man, which was indeed T'Pol's intention, but both Reed and Archer perceived something else in that glance, something… intimate. Yes, that was it, but then ship's rumor mill had long speculated that the two were romantically linked.

"Well, I've got to go. I need to see how repairs are coming along," said Commander Tucker.

"I will leave with you," said T'Pol. "I have my own duties to attend to now."

Trip nodded to both captain and lieutenant and moved for the door, T'Pol in tow, after a nod to the captain.

"I should return to the Bridge," said Lt. Reed.

"Wait a moment," said Archer, and motioned to Phlox, that the doctor to join him and Reed. "I have a task for you and Phlox."

"Captain?" said Phlox, looking at the Human inquisitively.

"These Orions have proven to be a pain in the ass for us ever since we met them," said Archer, looking at Phlox and Reed in turn, "and other StarFleet vessels will have to deal with them eventually."

"Aye," said Reed, and Phlox nodded along with the lieutenant.

"So we need to understand them, and we need to neutralize their chemically based power over us," said Archer. "So I need you, Doctor, to find ways to neutralize the hold these pheromones have over us, and the first step to that is figuring out why Trip is immune to those same pheromones."

"I have plenty of sensor readings and medical scans, Captain," said Phlox, "but it would help if I could have access to Commander Tucker from time to time."

"He's at your disposal, Doctor," said Archer, and Phlox smiled, glad to take on a medical challenge.

"And you, Lt. Reed," said Archer, looking at the man now. "I need you to scour every sensor feed, every camera video stream, anything and everything that stands out to you, since the time we made contact with the Orions."

"Yes, Captain," said Reed, and with that, the Denobulan and the Human lieutenant went about their appointed tasks, while Archer made for the Bridge.

* * *

Ensign Sato was just refilling her coffee cup from the Mess Hall's beverage dispenser, when Ensign Mayweather walked in, and each nodded casually to the other, then Ensign Mayweather grabbed an empty cup and took a place next to Ensign Sato, in preparation for filling a cup of his own with the strong coffee which Chef favored for his ship.

"Ensign," said Travis. "How's your day going so far?"

Ignoring the question, Hoshi said, "We need to talk later."

"Oh, oh," said Travis. "That sounds ominous. Should I be worried?"

"Just come to my quarters later," said Hoshi. "1900 hours."

"If you want to break up with me, just tell me now," said Travis, only half joking. "Are you leaving me?"

"Yes," said Hoshi. "For Porthos, but come anyway."

"Ok," said Travis.

* * *

Lt. Reed had taken the captain's orders quite earnestly, and he'd spent the next eight hours in one of the conference rooms, going over every move the Orions had made since Haraad-Sar had initially approached the Enterprise, all the way to the very last moment when the Humans and the Orions had parted ways, each limping away from the other in damaged starships. And something bothered Malcolm, though he wasn't sure exactly what or why…

A short break, a sandwich and some fries to feed the body, while the mind was allowed to freely associate in order to track down the cause of unease, and then a return to the conference room. Some more free association there, then finally an errant thought provided a clue to follow.

Malcolm pulled up the video feed from the Bridge and saw Trip enter the Bridge, phaser in hand and Malcolm saw Trip waste no time in stunning him, the captain and then Travis, before turning his phaser on the Orions and escorting them off the Bridge. Malcolm followed the video feed in the turbo-lift, and then the hallways of the Enterprise, as Trip herded the Orion dancers towards the transporter unit, and then off the Enterprise and back to Haraad-Sar's ship. No, he'd gone too far, so Malcolm played the video feed in reverse as Trip backed the Orions back onto the Bridge, then Malcolm followed the Orions back to their holding cell, but again nothing unexpected here. Nothing. That brief thought which had been just about to blossom into a revelation, had come to nothing.

Another twenty minutes trolling through the various feeds once more, but something about the footage from the Bridge kept drawing Malcolm back to that scene, and eventually he had it. Trip had entered the Bridge armed with a phaser, and expecting trouble. No one serving on the Bridge had expected the Orion dancers to make an appearance, so no one there warned Trip. Perhaps someone else had done so.

On the trail of something now, though still unsure of what that might be, Malcolm pulled up the video feed of the Orion women, and then the feed of Trip in Engineering, both arranged in a split screen view, then Malcolm viewed the Orions first. What he saw with the Orions was about what was expected. The three women posed seductively and eventually persuaded the guard on detail inside their block of holding cells to open up the door, and let them out. Navaar, the loveliest of the Orions kissed the guard, then whispered something in the guards ear and he just walked away, God knows where. That process was repeated several times as the Orions made for the Bridge, and none of the crewmen approached and seduced by the Orions seemed to be in the least alarmed by them, nor did Malcolm see any of those crewmen give warning to anyone. So how did Trip know about the Orions?

Stilling the Orion feed when the three women made it to the Bridge, Malcolm jumped back to a time when Trip and T'Pol were working together in Engineering, trying to bring the engines back up online. Then T'Pol stumbled onto some interesting bit of knowledge in the wall mounted monitor, and turned to look at Trip, though she said nothing to draw the man's attention: nevertheless, Trip turned to T'Pol, spoke to her briefly, and then Vulcan and engineer split apart, T'Pol heading for the Bridge, Trip fiddling in the Engine room still.

Malcolm pressed a button and synchronized the video displays by actual time, and now Trip was just leaving Engineering as the Orion women entered the Bridge… and then something interesting happened, and Malcolm caught it the first time around. Just as the Orions had stepped onto the Bridge, T'Pol turned her head and took note of the Orions… and Trip stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the hallway. Although T'Pol could have sent a text message from her station on the Bridge to Engineering, she had not, for Malcolm quickly pulled up the comm logs and determined that for a fact, and even if she had done so, Trip had been moving through the halls at the time.

Interested now, Malcolm watched as Trip moved to a weapons locker. Under normal circumstances, only Security personnel had access to the weapons lockers, but any officer could also access the weapons lockers at will, and Trip did so quickly, drawing out a phaser pistol and rushing for the Bridge, and well, Malcolm knew what came next. He watched the entire sequence over again, and then once more, and then turned off the video display and thought silently for a bit, trying to make sense of it all, for it was the only sequence of events which could not be explained by cause and effect.

Another odd thing to note here: when Trip had made the Bridge, he'd fired immediately upon three men, without asking for explanations. No one had talked to him after T'Pol left Engineering, so no one warned him the Orions escaped. So why did he stop in the hallway, then suddenly go for a weapons locker? And why had he opened fire upon his shipmates without taking the time to ascertain the situation?

After a few minutes of thought, Malcolm stood and made way for Sick Bay.

* * *

"Ahh, Lt. Reed," said Phlox, as the man entered Sick Bay. "What ails you this day?"

"Nothing," said Malcolm, "but I do have some questions, and you might be just the man to answer them."

"Ask than, Lieutenant," said Phlox.

"Given the mission assigned us both by the Captain I thought we might collaborate, and you might provide me with some answers," said Malcolm. "I know you spent a few years on Vulcan doing a medical residency."

"I did," said Phlox, waiting for the lieutenant to ask his questions. "I will do my best to answer any questions you might have."

"I have reviewed every facet of our encounter with the Orions, and there is only one factor I can not account for," said Malcolm. "In the very instant that the Orion females stepped onto the Bridge in order to take control of the ship, I believe that T'Pol sent a telepathic message to Commander Tucker, appraising him of the situation, and calling him to the rescue."

Malcolm watched Phlox carefully, and if the Denobulan did not believe him, at least he had the good grace to keep from laughing in his face.

"The Vulcans are not nearly as psychic a species as is commonly depicted," said Phlox, "though they are more so than either Humans or Denobulans. Still, their strongest psychic talents are generally found in their monasteries, and in service to the High Command, where and when they're needed."

"Does T'Pol have any psychic talent so far as you know?" said Malcolm.

"I don't believe her psychic talent is strong enough to rate mention," said Phlox, "or at least I've never seen any indication of that fact. The only way I could think of T'Pol being able to contact Commander Tucker is if they were…"

"Were what?" said Malcolm, certain that Phlox was on to something.

"If they were a mated couple," said Phlox, a smile on his face now. "Vulcan mates are joined by a psychic bond, that much is commonly known."

"I see," said Malcolm, his head about to explode now, thinking: How the hell did they manage to keep that secret? There are no secrets aboard a ship!

* * *

At 1900 hours on the dot, Ensign Mayweather pressed the button to announce himself to Ensign Sato, and request access to her cabin, and she must have been anxious for his arrival, because the door opened almost immediately, and after a quick glance around, Travis entered Hoshi's quarters, only to find the Ensign still wearing her uniform, instead of the high heels she usually wore for his visits, as her one item of clothing.

"Oh, now I know this is going to be bad," said Travis, as Hoshi led him into her quarters, and took a seat on her bunk. "What's going on, Hoshi?"

Ensign Sato took a deep breath, hand balled tightly into fists, and blurted it out: she said, "I'm pregnant!"

Travis smiled at that, and said, "Should I ask who is the baby's daddy?"

"Only if you want to die," said Hoshi, "pummeled to death by my carefully manicured hands!"

"Then I won't," said Travis, hugging Hoshi, then peppering Hoshi's face with kisses.

"So… you're not upset?" said Hoshi.

Travis laughed and said, "Not in the least, Ensign!"

"You sure?" said Hoshi.

"Positive," said Travis, fishing round one of the pockets in his uniform, to pull out a small box of polished rosewood made weeks earlier by Commander Tucker.

Hoshi straightened on seeing that small box, and said, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yep," said Travis, smiling. "I've been carrying this around with me for weeks, waiting for the perfect opportunity."

He carefully opened the box to show a beautifully crafted ring of twined platinum and gold, crowned by a large diamond.

"Where did you get this?" said Hoshi, knowing that he nearest jeweler was a dozen lightyears away, at least.

"Trip made it for me," said Travis. "Hoshi, since the moment I met you—"

"Yes, Travis!" said Hoshi, crying now.

"You don't want to listen to the rest of my sales pitch?" said Travis.

"I'm already sold," said Hoshi. "Put the ring on my finger, you fool!"

* * *

Two hours after Malcolm's answer and question session with the doctor, Trip and T'Pol found themselves called to the Captain's Mess, and once there they were ordered to take a seat, their backs to the wall with the large portholes, facing a now pacing Archer, while Malcolm, for his part, merely leaned back against the wall, his eyes fixed on them both, an amused grin on his face, for once.

"So, you two," said Archer, "is there anything you'd like to confess to me?"

"Like what, Captain?" said Trip, completely puzzled by the proceedings, while T'Pol merely watched the captain with an intent look on her face.

"Really?" said Archer. "Neither of you can think of anything you might want to share with me?"

"Not that I can think of, Captain," said Trip.

"What about you, T'Pol?" said Archer.

The Vulcan merely shook her head.

"Last chance, Trip," said Archer.

"Sorry, Captain," said Trip.

Archer nodded at that, placed his hands on the dining table, brought his face but three inches from Trip.

"Are you sure about that, Commander Tucker?" said Archer, going at Trip with the viciousness of a rabid terrier, and Trip laughed, and that set Archer off too, who started laughing.

"What's all this about, Captain?" said Trip, grinning at the man.

"Malcolm and I just wanted to be the first ones to congratulate you and T'Pol on your Bond," said Archer.

Trip and T'Pol looked at each other then, and Archer could practically hear their thoughts racing back and forth, then Trip turned back to him, and said, "Thanks, Captain. Thanks, Malcolm. The wife and I are appreciative of your support."

* * *

***Ok, the entire Trip/T'Pol/Orions arc of this story was entirely motivated by fanfiction member, Slear, who asked some very good questions, as he'd noticed some things which I never thought to consider: namely, why did Trip come charging onto the Bridge armed with a phaser? Why did he immediately fire upon his three ship mates without pausing to assess the situation?


	9. Chapter 9

**Story #8 - Season 1**

Commander Tucker came up onto the Bridge, meaning to pass through in order to find the captain in his Ready Room, but Archer had just stepped onto the Bridge a few minutes earlier in order to watch the Vulcan ship which had just separated from the Enterprise's Access Hatch speed off in a trail of light, as it went to warp.

"Hey, Captain," said Trip, stepping the the Captain's right side of the chair. "I just heard you had to escort one of the Vulcans off the ship at gun point. Phaser point. Whatever."

"Yeah, that bastard Tolaris," said Archer.

"Why?" said Trip. "What did he do?"

"He messed around with T'Pol's mind somehow. She's in Sick Bay now," said Archer.

"And you're just letting him go?" said Trip, looking at the captain through narrowed eyes, not understanding that move on the captain's part.

"T'Pol wanted it that way," said Jon, looking at Trip, understanding the man's feelings on the matter, as he felt the same way himself.

"This isn't just about what T'Pol wants. That fuck needs to pay a price in order to learn a lesson. What the hell were you thinking just letting him go?" said Trip, and with that, he crossed the line with the captain.

"Watch your tone with me, Commander," said Archer, for he'd noted everyone on the Bridge looking at the two of them now: while he would have entertained that tone in private from a friend, he could not do so here, in front of his subordinates. "We're on the Bridge."

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Trip, still angry. "What the hell were you thinking, just letting him go, sir?"

"My Ready Room," said Archer.

Moments later in the privacy of his Ready Room Archer turned to face a subordinate still looking for a fight, and said, "You shoot your mouth off like that again in front of my crew, you'll do time in the Brig, friend or no friend. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Trip, a bit ashamed now: Jon was his friend, and he was owed respect as both captain and friend. "I apologize."

Jon nodded, understanding Trip's feelings on the matter, but a bit taken aback at the man's vehemence, which was unexpected, given how often he and T'Pol fought over the dumbest of issues.

"Now, I don't know exactly what he did. T'Pol said they were doing some kind of mind meld and it went bad, I don't know exactly how," said Jon. "What I do know is that she's upset and wants him off the ship, and that's good enough for me, and it should be good enough for you."

"What's wrong with her?" said Trip. "Why is she in Sick Bay?"

"She's having some difficulty controlling her emotions," said Jon. "Phlox says she'll be all right in a few days."

"Can I see her?"

"No," said Jon. "Phlox wants her secluded in Sick Bay until he releases her."

"All right," said Trip with a sigh. "I've got some work to do if we're finished here. I'm sorry about being a dick up on the Bridge."

"I understand," said Jon. "Carry on."

"Just a few days?" said Trip, referring to Phlox's timeline for T'Pol's return to duty.

"A few days," said Jon.

* * *

That night T'Pol tossed and turned as she dreamed. Usually, the logical Vulcan's mind placed no significance on dreams and so never remembered them, or knew if they even existed, but this night she dreamed, the gates of her subconscious swung open by Tolaris' mental touch, and so T'Pol moaned in fear now, as she dreamed.

Stretched out on her back and looking up at a turbulent Vulcan sky which hinted at a storm soon to come, T'Pol was terrified now. She recognized this place, vaguely, due to the needle-like formation of the mountain peaks surrounding this valley. It was a valley in the Forge, one of Vulcan's harshest regions, home of its most brutal terrain and environment, and hunting grounds of some of the most fiercely predatory wildlife on Vulcan, and T'Pol was displeased to find herself here, and close to panic to discover that she was immobilized. She tried to move an arm, a leg, anything, but her body refused her commands: only her eyes still obeyed their owner, for what little good it did T'Pol. If she could not move, and the turbulent skies turned into a storm she would die here. Storms in the Forge were a nightmare, of high winds, and flying sand which would peel flesh from bone in a matter of minutes, but not quite quickly enough to spare her a hellish death.

It was while T'Pol was occupied with these cheerful thoughts that something much more disturbing came to her attention when she realized that the upcoming storm, which the animals of the Forge sensed with intimate awareness for they were well attuned to this environment, was bringing out the kvo'ratt, the Zombie Cicadas, so named because they rose from their desert lair to feast on the corpses of animals killed by the wicked sandstorms, the kvo'ratt alone among the animals of Vulcan in being immune to the bite and sting of the whirling sands due to their relatively small size, and unbelievably hard chitinous carapace. Their appearance confirmed T'Pol's fears that a storm was coming, and sure enough the winds picked up now, as did the shrieking sound which sounded like the screams of souls being torn asunder by darker and more powerful forces than these winds alone.

Struggling once more to move, and finding herself frustrated in that fruitless effort, T'Pol felt to her horror, the kvo'ratt climbing her body, instinctively moving for her head, for unless the corpse they meant to consume had already been slashed open by the winds and sand, the kvo'ratt entered the corpses through the mouth, nose or ears, to feast on a corpse from the inside out, and the thought of what was coming caused T'Pol to begin hyperventilating.

The winds truly picked up now though they were a long way from their possible maximum speeds, and T'Pol began to feel the sting and bite of the sands on her exposed skin, though her first concern were the kvo'ratt, and T'Pol flinched when she felt the first of them climb on her face. She breathed hard now, and though her teeth were clenched she knew that in time they'd find their way in, through her eyes and ears if nothing else, and T'Pol waited for that to happen with a grim anticipation.

Oddly though, these kvo'ratt were not following their usual habits, for the majority of these insects had all taken station on T'Pol's skull, rather than the softer parts of her anatomy, and once there, they did nothing more, seemingly waiting for something. That something happened a few moments later, when T'Pol felt another kvo'ratt land on her neck, and make its way slowly up her chin, over her lips, and finally take station on her nose, drawing T'Pol's attention, and it was here that the most startling of this all took place when T'Pol realized that the kvo'ratt had a Vulcan face! Tolaris' face!

T'Pol began screaming then, and as if awaiting for that signal the odd twenty or thirty kvo'ratt stationed on her head began boring through her skull, though that should not have been possible… none of this should be possible! And with that realization, T'Pol gave a final scream, and woke in Sick Bay, trembling quite strongly.

"T'Pol," said Phlox in soothing tones, having stepped around the privacy curtain which surrounded T'Pol's bed. "What's wrong?"

"Kvo'ratt!" said T'Pol still lost in her dream for a bit, before she finally blinked and looked round the Sick Bay.

Breathing heavily, and sweating profusely, T'Pol fought for normalcy now, after the sensation of kvo'ratt drilling through her so seemingly real skull and brain, a dream which T'Pol now understood have symbolized the invasion of her psyche by Tolaris' thoughts during the mind meld.

"T'Pol?" said Phlox softly.

"It's nothing," said T'Pol, still agitated. "Bad dream about Tolaris. I just need some privacy, and quiet, Doctor."

"A sedative?" said Phlox.

"No," said T'Pol, and the Denobulan left her alone, though T'Pol knew he'd be on call if she needed him.

Hours later, as T'Pol slept, Trip stopped by Sick Bay, for though he knew he would not be allowed to see T'Pol, he could still speak to Phlox.

"How is she?" said Trip softly, looking at Phlox.

"She'll be all right," said Phlox, "but she's had a nightmare tonight, and she woke up screaming."

"Screaming what?" said Trip.

Phlox debated answering the question, but this was not truly private information, so he said, "Some Vulcan word I think, Kavrak something, and Tolaris, the name of that Vulcan escorted off the ship by Captain Archer. Now, you should go, Commander Tucker."

Knowing Phlox would say no more, Trip nodded, and said, "Thanks, Doc. I'm heading to the Mess Hall for some coffee. May I bring you something?"

"Yes, thank you," said Phlox. "A blood sausage and some chocolate cake, if it's not too much trouble."

"Really? That combination? You're putting me on, right?"

"Not at all," said Phlox.

"Ok," said Trip. "Be back in a few minutes."

* * *

 **Six months later: The Enteprise orbits Regulus.**

"Malcolm, are you sure about this?" said Trip, as he and Malcolm walked through the large open air market in the Regulan capital. "I don't want to waste our entire day on a wild goose chase!"

"Relax," said Malcolm, looking quite dashing in his favorite leather bombing jacket. "This vendor has the largest, freshest shellfish on Regulus, Trip! We'll feast like kings once we get them all in Chef's hands."

"Fine, fine," said Trip. "But you'd better pray tha—"

Trip froze mid-sentence, certain now that some sort of divine justice existed in the universe, for thirty feet from him stood Tolaris, haggling with a merchant.

A 'few days' the captain and Phlox had both said, yet T'Pol had been gone for ten days, and when she'd come back on duty she was quite withdrawn for the next month or so, and it was then that Trip had prayed to run across Tolaris some day soon, and now it seemed his prayers were answered.

"Trip?" said Malcolm, looking at Trip in some confusion, as he'd not seen Tolaris before the Vulcan turned his face away from them. "What's going on?"

"Turn around, walk out of the market, and transport back to the Enterprise. Now," said Trip.

"What's going on?" said Malcolm, sensing the tension in his shipmate and his friend, and looking round warily.

"That was an order, Lieutenant," said Trip.

"Aye, sir," said Malcolm, the former Section 31 operative displeased to be kept in the dark this time: but he had his orders.

Tolaris moved on through the market in time, and Trip followed him, picking up an old scarf from some homeless man's cart and tossing the man a silver Regulan crown in return, and some ten stalls later, stealing a rusty iron shod club used for dispatching small Regulan pigs from an unguarded animal pen, and still he moved, following Tolaris, scarf wrapped around his head now, and though the day was sunny, it was cool enough for that act to go unnoticed.

The time to act came ten minutes later, and there was no challenge, no honor, no explanations, Trip simply headed directly for Tolaris, looking downwards so that Tolaris might not see his intentions in his eyes, and Trip seemingly stumbled and accidentally bumped the Vulcan off balance as they passed each other, and then brought the club in play while Tolaris was still unbalanced. The soft thud as the iron shod club landed on the Vulcan's arm was not truly indicative of the damage in did, as it broke the Vulcan's left arm instantly, then the next hit broke a few ribs, the next shattered a knee, and the last was a blow that shattered the Vulcan's lower jaw. That one put Tolaris to sleep, and Trip stood over him a moment, before lifting his workboot and bringing it down on Volaris' hand. He'd be feeling the aftershocks of this encounter for a few months, and eating his meals through a straw.

Another ten minutes to walk through the market, a chance to discard the club in a muddy river which bordered the market, and after that, a short transport and the Enterprise once more.

* * *

Later that same day, Trip headed for the Captain's Mess to dine with Jon and T'Pol. Jon wasn't there yet, but T'Pol was, and she was her old self now. Trip nodded to her pleasantly, and spoke softly to the captain's steward, asking for coffee, and moments later, he had it, and sipped it quietly while looking off into space.

"Commander?" said T'Pol, for the man was not generally given to quiet introspection. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, T'Pol," said Trip, turning to look at T'Pol. "How about you?"

"I am well, Commander Tucker," said T'Pol, still puzzled by this man, but that was nothing new: the man was fiendishly unpredictable, to the logical mind of a Vulcan.

* * *

***This story was inspired by MostDismalFeldsparkle, someone who PM me out of the blue with the idea of inserting zombie cicadas in a short story. Though I happen to know that she's a wonderful author from reading her stories, and though I now suspect that she's a lovely woman, I fear that she was trolling me mercilessly by coming to me with the idea and the challenge, of integrating zombie cicadas into my stories. Nevertheless, I tried to rise to the challenge, but ultimately failed, which just proves she's a bit more clever than I. Just a bit though, not that much.


End file.
